


When In Rome...

by androidkisser



Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androidkisser/pseuds/androidkisser
Summary: A trip to Italy to show Nero how her precious Rome has changed.





	When In Rome...

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I usually write for the NieR:Automata fandom, but I've tried to work at some FATE stuff lately.  
> Hopefully you like this, I have a few more chapters planned, so let me know if you'd like to see more.
> 
> This doesn't really take place during any established canon route or piece of media, it's just you, as her Master, during some non-specific Grail war.

“It is beautiful, my Praetor,” Nero says, in hushed tones. “You say it was built long after my time?”

You nod, having done your research long before the trip's planning stage was in its infancy.

“Seventeen sixty... two, I think,” you say, a little awestruck yourself, upon seeing such a sight in person. “So, not too long after, then.”

A gentle – well, by her standards, anyway – shove to the shoulder nearly sends you sideways into the fountain itself, but you manage to steady yourself.

“Are you calling me old?!”

“How could you possibly see it that way?” You're laughing, she's pouting. It's a decidedly cute, and familiar contrast. “Just a joke, Saber...”

“Umu, and that's another thing!” she continues, all semblance of admiration seemingly forgotten, “You promised you wouldn't call me by that any longer!”

“It's just a force of habit,” you mumble, shifting on the spot beneath her gaze. “It won't happen again, Sa– Nero.”

“Good, good!” Nero says, as her countenance began to lighten. “So, the Trevi district kept its name all this time, mm...”

“Well, it was split into two at one point, but yeah, it's still here,” you say, desperately trying to match the new, Italian names of everything around you to the Latin ones in your mind. “You like the fountain, then?”

“Yes, yes, of course!” she says, excitedly, wrapping her arms around your chest from her position at your side. “But, Praetor, tell me – why this? These?”

“Why what?” you ask, following her outstretched arm, then the pointed index finger. “Oh, the coins?”

“Mm, mm! Are people so wasteful with the currency of this era?”

“Actually, it's one of the reasons we went out of our way to come here,” you say, fidgeting nervously. “It's a tradition.”

“No way! It's a tradition to throw your money away?!” Nero turns to look at you, horrified. “Oh, my sweet Rome has lost its way...”

“That's – no, that's not quite what I...” you shake your head a little, before angling your head to meet her distraught gaze. “It's a tradition to toss in a coin, and make a wish. I thought you'd like to, since you don't really like to speak of...”

“Oh,” Nero says, eyes wide. “Oh! Really? Truly, it grants wishes? Without all the hateful foolishness that comes with...?”

It's hard to shatter her illusions, but sometimes, you feel like it's kinder to tell her the truth, rather than play up to her excitable side.

“It's just a tradition,” you say, hoping your eyes convey the meaning of your words. “It's probably more an expression of hope than a wish, with this, but it's a little nicer to call it that.”

“I see,” she hums, nodding her head against your arm, before releasing you from her iron grip. “Hand some over, then!”

“You don't get to keep making wishes one after the other,” you say, as you slip one into her waiting palm. “Just one, so make it count.”

“That's so – so... doesn't it know who I am?!” she exclaims, outraged, placing her splayed fingers on her chest.

“I don't think the fountain makes the rules,” you reply, calmly. “But we don't want to ruin our chances by being greedy, at any rate, do we?”

Nero fumes silently for a while, turning her eyes to the fountain, then back to you – then the fountain again, and finally, back to you.

“Umu, fine, fine,” she concedes, after that small eternity passes. She takes the coin from between your fingers, before turning it over in her hands. “What's this? Praetor, this is too small!”

“It is?”

“How, pray tell, do you expect me to make my grand wish on such a ridiculous unit of currency! Give me that one,” she says, gesturing to a cluster of much, much higher value coins. “Yes, that one!”

“You know, we'll still need to pay for food,” you protest, weakly, “and we have to get back to the outskirts, and...”

“I don't need to eat,” she says, proudly, with a look of excited determination in her eyes. Reluctantly, you let her take one, with a sigh of resignation. You stop short of saying _'but I do'_ , mostly to reward her for at the very least waiting for your defeat to show through.

She begins to wind her arm back, as if she's trying to hurl it with enough strength to cleave one of the ornate statues in two.

“No no, not like that,” you say, panicked, as you catch her wrist, just in time. “You can't just throw it in.”

“This fountain,” Nero hisses, clenching her fist. “All these rules! Even I think it's a tyrant!”

“It's alright,” you say, gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand. “You just have to face away from it, first...”

“Mm, like this?”

“Yes, then it's right hand over left shoulder,” you say, positioning her just so.

“Is there anything else?! Perhaps I should lie face down in the water, too, mm?”

“You're good to go,” you say, with a barely concealed smile. “Close your eyes when you do it, though.”

“Close my –?! Umu, this fountain...”

You move a little closer to her as she mutters under her breath, readying her arm, with a look of intense concentration on her face. The instant the coin leaves her fingers, you take one more step, and press your hands against her hips, lightly. Her eyes fly open, surprised, and a little gasp escapes her lips.

“Praetor?”

You lean forward, brushing a small gap in her bangs with your nose, then plant a soft, chaste kiss on her forehead.

“I hope it was a good wish,” you whisper softly. “We could've bought a wonderful meal with that.”

For a second, she looks indignant, before her expression softens into a smile.

“It was,” Nero says with a nod, “definitely.”

“I'm glad,” you say, returning her smile. You reach up with your hand, and hold it against her cheek. She leans into your touch briefly, pressing it against her shoulder, before taking your hand between both of hers.

“You know,” she begins, lips pursed, “when we saw the other Masters, theirs weren't still like this...”

You look down, and realise she's running her fingers across your three intact Command Seals, gingerly. It's a strange feeling – not physically, but it seems to make your stomach tie itself into elaborate knots.

“Well, I'm not one to assume I can tell the Emperor what to do,” you say, attempting to downplay her apparent worry. “If we really need to use one, then we will, but it's fine this way too, isn't it?”

“You truly find the idea of using one so distasteful, Praetor?”

“Didn't you see what it did to Caster, back when... it looked nearly – well, painful, you know?”

The steady, relentless spray of the fountain accompanies your words, and the sounds of the surrounding tourists seem to grow louder, and yet more obnoxious as you wait for her reply.

“Well, yes, but that was against her will...”

She seems to take issue with the growing crowd, too, pulling you into an old side street – you'd probably be able to remember the name of it any other time.

“You must remember,” she starts, her voice soft, “that while it may be true that I am an Emperor, I am a Servant to my Master first.”

“I do understand,” you mumble. You almost wish you had worn a glove over the wretched things, now. “I do, but that's not –”

“Be quiet! If you revere me so, then hear me!”

Your mouth falls open for a second, then snaps shut. She presses a hand to your chest, pushing you up against the stone wall.

“If I were to fall in battle because of your reluctance, how do you think that would make me look, mm?”

“Well, I wouldn't let it get that far to begin w–”

“Do you think it befits the image of the one you admire, to look a complete and utter fool, as they are bested in combat?”

“No, I...”

You knew, really, that this was all a front. She was trying, in her own way, to get you to understand that it was alright.

“I trust you, my Praetor,” she says, steadying your wavering gaze with her determined eyes. “I know you, know that you would never make me do something that I don't wish to.”

“I wouldn't,” you begin, “but –”

She silences you with a desperate look, that fades into one of resignation.

“You really do care too much, umu...”

“I can't help that,” you choke out, averting your eyes. “I hadn't planned on this, you know.”

“Use one,” she says, looking up at you. “You'll never get over this, otherwise...”

“Now? You aren't serious,” you stammer. “What if we need –”

“– and just what use are three of them if you can't bring yourself to use one!?” Nero challenges, fiercely. It's a rhetorical question, but you know yourself that it's a more than valid concern. “Praetor – please...”

“What exactly would I even...?”

“Isn't that up to you?” She moves closer, and presses herself against your body, her footsteps echoing in the empty street; she then picks up your hand again, holding it to her face. “If it were I in your position, I would be sure to make it something I know I would like...”

Her breath is hot against your wrist – you can feel your pulse racing, and hear the blood pounding in your ears.

The Seals on the back of your hand seem to sense your intent, glowing a deep red, akin to the bright embers left in her sword's wake. Nero doesn't flinch, nor does she make any attempt to move away from them. Rather, she simply caresses her cheek with your hand, holding eye contact all the while.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, gently. There's a muted flash of light, before one of the Seals burns itself out in an instant, leaving behind an untidy, scrawled echo of what it was. “Please.”

“Umu, the please is a little unneeded,” she says, leaning into you.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, feeling that same warm breath now on your face.

“It does not,” she replies, smiling, as her lips come to meet yours.

You're certain she saw the relief in your eyes in the instant before you closed them, and you're glad of it. For your first real kiss, it's tender, and gentle – you didn't really specify anything in the command about _how_ to kiss you, so you can only assume it's how she wants it to be.

You can't quite put your finger on what's different about the sensation, but you know it's warm – no, hot, far hotter than it should be. It's by no means unpleasant, in fact, it's the opposite – the more you kiss her, the more you're convinced that there couldn't possibly have been a better way to use that Seal.

One of her hands slips into your hair, and you're suddenly positive that it's all her, now. She breaks away from you, after a while, leaving your head fuzzy, and your thoughts muted, as if it had been filled with all of the water from the fountain.

“Was that so hard?” she teases, resting her head against your chest.

“It wasn't,” you admit, freely. Truthfully, you'd never imagined it could be such an intimate gesture.

“As I said, I trust you, perhaps more than I think I have ever trusted another before,” she says, her cheeks dusted pink. “You mustn't hold back, umu.”

“I'll do my best,” you whisper to her.

“I know you will,” comes her equally hushed reply. “You have yet to disappoint me, Praetor.”

“I'm glad,” you murmur, pressing another small kiss to the tip of her nose. “We should really get going, though. There's still some things I want to take you to see while we're here.”

She nods, taking your hand in hers.

“I can think of nobody I would rather accompany around my Rome than you, Master.”

 


End file.
